


Search and Rescue

by foxysquid



Category: Voltron: Legendary Defender
Genre: Alien Planet, Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Fantasy, Alternate Universe - Merpeople, Alternate Universe - Witchcraft, Comedy, Falling In Love, Injury, Kissing, Love Confessions, M/M, Magic, Merperson Keith (Voltron), Monsters and Mana, Moonlight, POV Keith (Voltron), POV Shiro (Voltron), Ravens, Rescue, Rescue Missions, Roleplay, Romance, Science Fiction, Time Shenanigans, Trust, Witches
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-07-15
Updated: 2018-07-31
Packaged: 2019-06-10 17:21:35
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 16,535
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15296364
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/foxysquid/pseuds/foxysquid
Summary: A collection of short stories focusing on Shiro and Keith, written for Sheith Month (2018). Based on various prompts, these fics vary in tone and focus (and AU), but they share the overall theme of searching and rescuing. Because I love it when they rescue each other.Each chapter will be a separate story, and I'll post them as I finish them.Featuring:energy beings, trust falls, witches, and intense roleplaying sessions.





	1. Night Light

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> On an alien planet, after a long journey, Keith finds himself unable to sleep. Shiro has the same problem, but they may be able to help each other (again).
> 
> Written for the prompt **Guiding Light**.

It was strange to have his feet on the steady surface of a planet again. He didn't know how long he'd been off-world, traveling. He might never be sure, considering the warped nature of the time he'd passed through. He had kept count of the days, but that didn't account for the random distortions and gaps, and the way time would stutter or swing from side to side. He had seen the past, and he had seen the future. The experience of the abyss would have been impossible to explain to someone who hadn't been there. He _had_ been there, and his own conception of it was incomplete, his memories confused at certain points. Putting the experience into words others would understand would have been a struggle, but no one had asked him to explain it yet.

He took special note of how solid the ground was. The day had faded into night at a regular rate. Look, there were clouds, and there was a moon. And another one—there were three moons in total orbiting this planet, although the third was currently hidden by the trees, except for its glowing edge. The moons were rising on their steady course through the night sky, lighting his way through the dark. This wasn't Earth, but, the three moons aside, it shared enough traits with Earth to feel familiar. His years lived outside of ordinary space had made all planets feel more homelike, in contrast. When Keith had last been on Earth, he'd had a hard time thinking of it as home, but doing so had become easier, after he had been so very far away.

The Castle of Lions had been lost, but Voltron's many allies hadn't been. Those allies stood ready to offer support. Their current host planet, which had been liberated from the Galra Empire by the coalition, was a peaceful one. When the lions had landed there this afternoon, crowds of its inhabitants had gathered to greet the Paladins and Coran. They weren't the kinds of crowds Keith was used to seeing. Not only was he unused to crowds in general, but the people of this planet were energy beings. At first, they had manifested as a field of light, which made Keith's eyes water as Black gently deposited him on the ground, along with Shiro and the wolf. Keith had been informed of the situation beforehand, but it was unreal to stand in silence surrounded by light, knowing that that light was living and thinking and looking at you. The wolf sat patiently at Keith's feet as they faced their hosts, and Shiro stood at Keith's side.

It had taken several strange, quiet minutes before a few of the inhabitants were able to adjust their energy fields and appear in forms that could interact with their more solid visitors. They continued to glow, but they had bodies that were human in shape. It was an illusion, but it was convincing. Keith would have believed their bodies were real, if he hadn't seen them shift from their actual forms. The planet may have been Earthlike, but its inhabitants weren't humanlike. The universe was more varied than he could have imagined, before leaving Earth himself. Keith wondered what an existence as energy felt like. The people flowed into the planet itself and into each other. They had no names and no weapons. Maybe, like his time in the abyss, that life had to be experienced before it could be understood.

The people of this planet had no need for cities or buildings, but there were structures here that had been designed with guests from other worlds in mind. The buildings could cloak themselves to blend in with their environment completely. Their walls could also become completely opaque, or transparent like glass. One of their hosts had explained how the walls responded to simple verbal commands. A single room could become windowless or transform into a single, clear window, in a matter of moments, without affecting the other rooms surrounding it. It had something to do with energy. Pidge and Hunk were excited about the construction of the walls and asked a series of increasingly excited questions, but Keith didn't worry about why they worked, once he knew how to operate them.

In a dining room with walls like clear crystal, their hosts had served them a series of light dishes for dinner. The food took the forms of flakes, narrow threads, and thin broth. The meal felt more nourishing than it looked or tasted. After they ate, they were shown to their quarters. The members of Team Voltron were housed in different rooms along the same corridor. The paladins and Coran spent the evening talking to each other and their hosts, and when the night sky became completely dark, they separated to go to sleep. Keith had been trying to focus on the present moment, but once he was alone, sadness welled up inside him. His friends were safe among allies, but each of them had experienced loss. Some had lost more than others. There was nowhere that was safe. Experience had taught Keith that. This was a nice place to stay, but they weren't going to remain here long. 

Keith had felt too restless to stay in his room sleep, which was why he was currently outside, gazing up at the moons and enjoying the deep sturdiness of the ground holding him up. The wolf remained at his side, as usual, occasionally teleporting away to look at objects of interest, then teleporting back just as quickly to sniff at him. Krolia had gone to report to Kolivan directly. Keith missed her. They had been journeying together for a long time. He had grown close to her and used to her company. Now it was much harder for him to remember what it felt like not to know his mother.

As he scanned the horizon, Keith saw shimmering light of many different colors in the distance. He was reminded of the Northern Lights on Earth. He'd never witnessed them in person, but had seen them in pictures and television footage. The lights were most likely the local residents in action. They probably didn't need to sleep. Whether it was the inhabitants or an atmospheric phenomenon, the sight was beautiful.

Keith—not for the first time, and not the last—thought of Shiro. In the abyss, when they'd drawn too near a dark star, memories had shimmered like those lights, glimpses of the past and future. Some had been recognizable, and others had been foreign. Many had been so fleeting, he hadn't been able to guess when they were taking place, or what they meant. More than a few had involved Shiro. Some had been as simple as a glimpse of his face. Some had been more complicated; or disturbing, as when he'd seen Shiro's eyes gleaming scarlet.

Once, he'd seen a vision of a night like tonight, but on a different planet, unimaginably far away. He and Shiro had been standing together, under a single moon. They'd been alone, under a hundred thousand desert stars. _I'm going to miss you_ , Keith had said, and then he'd asked Shiro a question. Shiro had given him an answer.

In the present moment, Keith had been standing outside for hours, and as the temperature kept steadily dropping, he was starting to get cold. He hoped the other paladins were asleep by now, unlike the locals. They had good reason to be tired. Keith guessed they'd probably gone to bed, but he was aware of the possibility that one or more of them could be as restless as he was. He hadn't encountered any of them out here, but he'd been away from them so long that he found predicting their behavior difficult. Reading people's emotions was never one of his greatest strengths, but he'd become accustomed, first to the Blades and their severe way of life, and then to the strangeness of a place outside ordinary time and space. He'd changed, in ways the others hadn't. They'd gone their separate paths, and they'd learned their separate lessons. Now that they were together again, it was good, but mentally, they hadn't arrived at the same destinations.

Keith went back inside, with the wolf at his heels. For a change of scenery, he paced the hall where their hosts had provided rooms for everyone. Keith appreciated how close they were to each other here, even when separated. He wasn't ready to be parted from the others again. Not yet. He had been close to losing them. All of them. Their success and survival had never been assured and had often been unlikely. 

Keith slowed, and then halted, in front of a door that had been left open. His attention was caught by a flash of illuminated white. Usually, Keith didn't peer into other people's bedrooms, but the combination of an open door and bright light had caught his attention. Keith had made his own room entirely opaque. He'd left it dark and shadowy. This room was the opposite. From outside the building, Keith hadn't been able to see into any of the rooms, but from this hallway, peering in through the door, the walls were so clear, it looked like you could step right through them and find yourself outside. Even the ceiling was transparent. The light of the moons spilled into the room and illuminated everything. The third moon had risen above the tree line.

Moonlight fell directly onto Shiro's pillow, setting his white hair aglow, and Keith wondered how he could remain asleep with that light shining down on him. Keith lingered in the doorway, feeling guilty about observing Shiro while he was unaware. Maybe he shouldn't be watching Shiro sleep, but he was reluctant to move on. There was so much Keith had almost lost, and he _had_ lost Shiro, in more than one sense. He had been separated from him for years, and then—Shiro had died. Keith didn't like to dwell on that. Death was an ultimate form of loss. Unconsciously, Keith let out a relieved breath. Since Shiro had come back to him, relief was a constant in the background of his emotions, at times surging into the foreground.

Shiro stirred. "Keith?" he asked softly.

Keith started. He hadn't realized Shiro was awake. "Yeah, it's me. How did you know?"

"I have my ways. You can come in, if you want."

"Okay." Keith took a step forward. "I didn't mean to disturb you."

"It's no disturbance. I'm glad you're here."

Keith slipped inside, the wolf following him silently. Entering the room was like walking into an aquarium. He felt exposed to the world, although he wasn't. Shiro rolled over toward him and patted the mattress, and Keith sat on the edge of the bed. The wolf curled up at Keith's feet with a quiet yawn. Shiro smiled. With the moonlight shining on the back of his head, he might have been wearing a halo. "Can't sleep, either?" Shiro asked.

"No. Everything feels—weird." If he'd known Shiro was lying here, awake, he would have come in sooner.

"That's a good way to put it. I'm still adjusting to everything."

"Yeah," Keith agreed. "It's a lot." Shiro must have been dealing with his own strangeness, having existed without a body inside the Black Lion. With that history, Shiro might have been able to understand the people of this planet better than Keith did. Keith wanted to ask about that, but at the same time, he didn't, so—he didn't.

"Is there anything in particular you want to talk about?" Shiro asked.

"No, I—I don't think so."

"You don't sound entirely sure. You can talk to me about anything. You know that."

"I know." How long had it been since he and Shiro had been able to really sit together and talk, like they used to? Twisting time, again, made it hard for him to guess at an accurate time, so he didn't bother calculating the days, settling on an estimate of _too long_ . Keith hesitated, then asked what he'd wanted to ask since he'd seen Shiro lying alone in the dark. "Can I lie down with you?"

There was no hesitation in Shiro's reply. "Of course you can."

The moonlight allowed Keith to see fairly well. He glanced at the edge of the blanket covering Shiro, but instead of pulling it up to slip under it, he stretched out on top of it, facing Shiro. Through the fabric, he could feel the warmth emanating from Shiro's body. He felt reassured of Shiro's reality and humanity. Keith may have in a constant state of relief due to Shiro's return, but when he'd been apart from him, he'd felt an additional unease. An irrational idea kept returning to him: the possibility that, in his absence, Shiro might cease to exist. Maybe something would go wrong, either with his body or with the spirit that inhabited it. Maybe the transfer hadn't taken, or—

"If you'd rather sleep here with me, that's fine," Shiro said, the comforting words derailing Keith's anxious train of thought.

Shiro was so often able to guess what Keith wanted and anticipate what he'd ask. "I'd like that."

"I'd like that too," said Shiro.

"You weren't able to sleep at all?" Keith asked.

"Not well. I'll drift off for a few minutes, but I keep waking up. Maybe it'll be easier now that you're here."

"I hope so." There wasn't anything Keith wouldn't do, if it meant helping Shiro, but lying here with him was no hardship. It might help him to sleep, too, but now he felt more awake than before. Anxiety and bizarreness had unsettled him, but so had happiness. He was too glad to sleep, because Shiro was with him, and he was lucky to have him here. You could lose anyone, at any time. That was easy. It was much harder to keep someone safe. Keith was grateful that he had Shiro to talk to and lie beside and smile at, like this. The problem was that he didn't know how long they were going to be able to stay together. He had Shiro back now, but what else might happen, and when? 

If the two of them had been beings made purely of energy, Keith would have wanted to merge with Shiro, so they could always be with each other. Was that a weird thing to want? Keith's head was full of a number of simultaneous thoughts. He was very aware of Shiro's nearness and heat. Some parts of them _were_ energy, like heat. When Keith had been away from Shiro physically, thoughts of Shiro had never been far from him. Those memories, housed in his brain, were energy, too. Without Shiro's presence, Keith had had the shape of his face, the sound of his voice, and his recollection of the time they'd spent together. Shiro's energy, Shiro's self, had become a part of him that way. It was important for him to preserve that, but it was more important that he protect Shiro himself.

The jumbled thoughts passing through Keith's mind must have affected his expression, because Shiro asked, "What is it, Keith?" 

Keith took a handful of blanket, glancing down at the pale cloth in his hand. Moonlight bathed both his hand and the blanket. It was as if they were outside under the sky, but the walls protected them from the cold and the weather, so the air was still and they were warm. "Do you remember, right before you left on the mission—"

"I still remember everything from before, from home. After Kerberos—that's where it gets hazy."

"I asked you something," said Keith. "Back then." Under the moonlight, a long time ago, Keith had been very foolish and rash. He had asked Shiro how he felt.

Shiro didn't respond immediately, and when Keith looked up to study his face, it was hard to tell what he was thinking. The light remained bright on his hair. The sight of that light had drawn Keith into the room, and it continued to draw him in. The white hair was a reminder of what had happened: what Keith had almost lost, and what he'd won. Even without that significance, it looked nice on Shiro, especially with the light shining on it. It was silvery, and it made Keith feel like he was seeing him in a dream or a vision.

Keith wasn't sure how long the silence from Shiro was stretching on, because time had become distorted again. "Do you know what I mean?" Keith asked. 

"I know," Shiro said.

"I shouldn't bring it up again now," Keith said, speaking haltingly at first, and then quickly. He didn't like to say too much at once, and he hated to ramble, but he was rambling. "It's too soon. I know. We still have a lot to do. We have to go back to Earth. You said to wait and see, and you were right. I'll wait as long as you want, if that's what you want. You might not ever feel the same way I do. It doesn't matter."

"Keith."

Keith stopped talking, as Shiro's hand reached out for him and settled on his face, cupping his jaw. Keith gazed at him in silence, not speaking anymore, but watching.

"It's been a long time since then, hasn't it?" Shiro asked.

Keith nodded, the movement pushing against Shiro's hand. Keith had meant what he'd said. He would wait for a long time. Forever, if that was what was asked of him. But he didn't have to wait forever. Shiro shifted again, moving forward until his lips pressed against Keith's. Keith stopped waiting, returning the pressure with a kiss of his own. His hand came up to grasp Shiro's shoulder, but after that, he didn't know what else to do, so he studied Shiro's face, looking for a clue.

Shiro smiled at him. Keith, encouraged, kissed him again. And again. His hand slid up to bury itself in Shiro's hair, and he pulled Shiro closer. Shiro's hair was soft, and his skin was warm, and his breath was gentle on Keith's skin. He was so alive and so himself, and Keith didn't stop kissing him until Shiro started to laugh against his lips. Then Keith was laughing too. That wasn't a sound he made often, but he couldn't help it now. He kept doing it until he managed to stifle it by pressing his face against Shiro's chest. 

"You always show up when I need you," Shiro said, settling a hand on his head.

"Because I need to be where you are." Keith spoke into Shiro's chest.

"I'm lucky that's the case," said Shiro. He sighed, gaining control of his breath after his laughter. "But Keith, I may need more time—for that. I need you to be here for me. It might take me longer to come all the way back from where I was."

Keith pulled his head back, just enough to gaze up at Shiro again. Bright and changed, but also the same. Keith didn't feel disappointment or dissatisfaction, or anything other than fondness and care. As Keith had taken a different path from the other paladins, Shiro's path had been different from anyone else's, and maybe his road was the longest one. "I'll be here," Keith said. Lying on his side, with his ear against the bed, he could hear the rhythm of his own heartbeat. Or maybe it was Shiro's, or maybe both.

In the abyss, the dark had sometimes been punctuated by bursts of light. Following these flashes, a time distortion might appear. Once, Keith had seen Shiro, with snow-white hair. Shiro's face had been thinner and lined: the face of a much older man. He had been older, but he had been smiling. Keith wasn't entirely sure if he had been hallucinating, or if that had been a glimpse of the future. It would have been his own future, because that Shiro had smiled and said, _Keith_. The future wasn't set. There were many possible futures, but Keith wanted to make sure that one came to pass, if he could.

"You lead the way for me," said Shiro, in the present moment.

"I will." Keith had once balked at the idea of being a leader. He'd believed that he wasn't ready, or worthy, or willing. Tonight, he agreed without reservation. In this time, or any other, he could do what Shiro needed him to do.


	2. Descending Bodies

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Trust-building exercises aren't easy for a person who doesn't trust easily, but Shiro witnessed the development of Keith's unusual interest in trust falls.
> 
> Written for Sheith Month, for the prompt **Trust**.

Watching Keith glare down at his hands, Shiro could tell he was deeply unhappy. It wasn't difficult for him to read Keith's emotions, although he knew others saw Keith as unreasonably angry or disobedient for the sake of it: a discipline issue and a problem to be solved.

"—and if he can't perform even the most basic tasks, what is the point of having him here? He is _not_ learning, and he is standing in the way of others who want to learn." Iverson continued to complain, although Shiro had ceased paying attention to his individual words. The other officer flanking Iverson nodded in agreement with her superior. Keith sat silently, neither arguing nor defending himself, gazing down at his hands as they smoothly opened once, then folded in on themselves again. Keith wasn't one for fidgeting nervously. His hands moved that single time, and then stilled.

Shiro felt a pang in his chest. Keith had a way of striking at his emotions, without needing to try. He was alone in the world, and Iverson and the other officers couldn't manage to take that into account and show Keith some compassion. "Look," Shiro said, "let me talk to him for a few minutes. We can sort this out. It doesn't have to be that much of an issue."

"It's something new every day," said Iverson. "I don't have time for this, Shirogane. Neither do you."

"I said, a few minutes. I have that much time."

Iverson snorted, but he didn't protest further. Shiro had known he wouldn't. He was probably glad to have someone else take Keith off his hands. Iverson was capable of listening to Shiro, at times. Shiro was the Garrison's pride and joy, for what that was worth. The role could be a burden as well as an honor, but most of the time Shiro was proud to be a part of the next great human endeavor: the exploration of the stars.

Today, his primary endeavor was here on Earth, out on the playing field. Keith was walking almost at his side, trailing a step behind. Due to a trick of scheduling, no one else was out here now. They might as well have been alone on the planet. The green of the grass was tenuous, with hints of brown. This wasn't the climate for green grass. The non-native plants didn't belong here, but every effort had been made to keep them alive. People had put in extra time and resources to make grass grow in a desert.

Keith was different. He did belong. He'd been born here, and he could flourish here. Unfortunately, not everyone saw the situation that way.

"Why didn't you want to do it?" Shiro asked, once they'd walked in silence for several minutes, while the afternoon sun sank slowly toward the horizon.

Keith's hands were stubbornly curled into fists. "I don't like it, and I don't see the point." 

It was a direct answer. Shiro gave a direct reply. There was no purpose in speaking to Keith in any other way. "The point is to build trust. They're trying to encourage teamwork."

"Either I trust someone or I don't. How can I build trust if I don't have any in the first place?" Keith demanded.

That wasn't a bad question. It was ideal to build trust on a solid foundation, but not everyone had that luxury. "In that case, the point is to create trust to build on. If only a little, at first."

"You can't make something out of nothing," Keith said.

"Sometimes you can't, but it's not impossible. It's been done before. Before you can be sure, you have to try."

"Maybe..." Keith grunted, kicking at the grass. He clearly didn't want to contradict Shiro, but he hadn't been convinced yet.

Shiro put his hands on his hips. Drastic measures were called for. "All right. Let's try it. Right here and now."

"With you and me?"

"Just you and me. That's all."

Keith's hands opened. He could be like that, with Shiro, closed but then completely open. "Okay," he said.

"Turn around. Put your back to me," Shiro instructed.

Keith did as he was asked, immediately. Shiro smiled at his back. He adjusted his stance, bending his knees, putting himself in the perfect position. "And—now," he said.

Without hesitation, Keith let himself fall back. There was no tension in his body, nothing but a complete surrender to gravity, and a willingness to give himself up. It wasn't difficult for Shiro to catch him, both his hands moving in to take hold and stop gravity. He held him up, easily. "See? That's how a trust fall is supposed to work."

Keith smiled as Shiro pushed him back up and helped him regain his footing. A smile from Keith was not a sight frequently seen, and Shiro wondered how many other people had had the pleasure of witnessing it lately. Not many, he was willing to bet. "That was kind of fun," Keith admitted.

"Do you think you can do that, in class? If they ask you to again?"

"No," said Keith bluntly.

"Keith—" Shiro didn't allow himself to sigh. He didn't want to be discouraging. He was a mentor. He had to be patient and calm, but, mentor or not, he did feel frustrated when Keith wouldn't unbend.

"But I'd do it with you again," Keith added.

"I'm glad to hear that, but sometimes you have to compromise."

"I don't want to. Why should I pretend to trust someone, if I don't? That's not going to make me trust them more. They have to prove themselves first."

Keith's honesty was too endearing. It was difficult for Shiro to be stern with him, but he didn't want to see him repeatedly punished over actions, or failures to act, that weren't that significant, in the greater scheme of things. Much of the training they went through at the Garrison was genuinely useful. In addition to that productive work, however, they had to jump through hoops. There were regulations, instructors, and administrators to consider. Not everything they were obligated to do was productive, but all of it had to be done. "It's not about actually trusting them. It's about doing what you need to do to get by. Do you think you can do that?"

Keith sighed. He didn't have an answer for Shiro, but his hands didn't form fists again. "Let me catch you now," he said instead.

Shiro was much taller and heavier than Keith, but in a trust fall, it was crucial for him to show Keith that he trusted him. Could Keith manage to catch him and hold him up? As Shiro asked himself that question, the answer he had for himself was as sudden as it was certain. Keith would certainly never let him fall. Keith had fallen into his arms so trustingly. The least Shiro could give him in return was the same unhesitating faith. He turned his back to Keith. He waited a beat, to let Keith adjust. There was a cool breeze, carrying a promise of the night's lower temperatures. The wind gently stirred Shiro's hair and the collar of his shirt. There was no one here but the two of them, because the rest of the world had faded away. Other than the sensation of the air moving against his skin, Shiro was only aware of Keith's presence behind him. He couldn't see him or hear him, but he knew he was there.

There were many senses other than the traditional five: senses of heat, of cold, of hunger, of pain, of the passage of time. Shiro believed he also had a sense of Keith, an awareness of him that couldn't be the result of any of his other senses at play, because it went beyond them. He couldn't explain it, except that he sometimes knew where Keith was and how Keith was with a sureness he didn't experience with anyone else. Only seconds had passed since he'd turned around. Keith hadn't indicated his readiness in any way, but Shiro took a breath and let himself fall. In the fraction of an instant during which he descended through space, he was absolutely calm. His body was relaxed. There was not a fraction of doubt in his mind about the fact that he was going to be caught. Then, as he'd known they would be, Keith's arms were beneath him, arresting his fall. "Got you," Keith said.

"So you do." Shiro felt secure. Keith was strong. He held Shiro up, then helped him back to his feet.

Keith was smiling again. It was a quiet smile. It barely shifted his lips, but his eyes shone.

"Somehow, I don't think I've convinced you," said Shiro.

"I like trust falls," said Keith, "but only with someone I trust."

"That's fair." They hadn't exactly had an argument, but Keith's sure catch had been a kind of conversation, and Shiro found himself giving in. He was supposed to be the one mentoring Keith, but Keith could be very convincing. Not to mention, very stubborn. "New plan: we're going to hope that they won't ask you to do that again." Trust falls weren't a frequent part of the Garrison education experience, so in spite of not being much of a plan, it did have a chance of success.

If any more trust falls were required of Keith in school, Shiro didn't hear about it, but that wasn't the last fall. It was the first in a long series of trust exercises. After that day, whenever the two of them were alone, there was a possibility that Keith would command him: "Hey, catch me." With little warning and no discussion, Shiro would do just that. Sometimes Keith would fall straight backwards, or he would jump off a wall or from the top of a large rock he'd climbed up onto. 

On other days, Keith say, "Shiro, let me catch you," and the same thing would happen, but in reverse. Shiro would be expected to fall where he stood. It didn't happen every day or even every week. Months might pass without a fall requested, but then there would suddenly be a need for two or three in the course of a few hours.

Shiro didn't ask why. He suspected that the requests came when Keith needed reassurance, and this was a way he could ask for it without asking directly. Keith often preferred to talk without words, and Shiro was glad to be there to catch him when he needed to be caught. He could see why Keith enjoyed it. That instant of free fall without fear was ecstatic, the freedom to abandon himself to gravity without a care. When else could he feel so uninhibited and strangely safe? No matter how many times they fell, they never failed to catch each other. Neither of them ever hit the ground. They were never injured. Each one of them knew that the other would catch him, without fail. 

Shiro had always had a certain fondness for trust building exercises. He liked the idea that trust was a structure that could be bolstered, improved, and expanded. His series of falls with Keith gave him a new perspective on the concept. He came to understand Keith's original point of view. The starting point, or the initial materials that you were working with did make a difference. They had started out with a strong bond of trust, and they had managed to strengthen it into something new. It was an instinctive understanding, a certainty that no matter how and when you fell, there was someone with a will and a skill to catch you.

Later, when he was imprisoned, Shiro would dream that he was falling, descending down an endless pit while Galra cheered and reached for him with clawed hands. Some nights, he woke up screaming from that dream, but not always. On good nights, there would be someone standing below him. Strong arms would catch him and hold him up. They wouldn't let him go. _Got you_ , Keith would say. On nights like that, Shiro could stop falling. He would settle into a deeper, calmer sleep and finally rest. When he could sleep, he was stronger and sharper and better able to fight in the arena.

_Got you._ It was good to hear those two sure and simple words, to know that someone was there to stop his fall. He wasn't alone. 

After the arena, there were many more falls. He fell to Earth. He fell down onto an alien world. He fell out of his body entirely. He'd learned how to trust, but even his confidence had been shaken, more than once. He'd been sure he would die. Then, he had died.

The first time that Shiro woke up from a real sleep, after he was alive again, he had looked up to find Keith gazing down at him. Keith's concerned expression narrowed his eyes and drew his dark eyebrows down. "Good morning," said Shiro.

Keith's expression softened. "It's not morning," he said.

The light was dim. The room was quiet. Shiro didn't know how long he'd been sleeping. He felt like he could sleep for ten years, but he wouldn't do that. Ten hours, maybe. That was excessive, but not unreasonable. "Good evening, then."

"That's more like it." Keith was sitting on the edge of his bed, and Shiro wondered how long he'd been there. Shiro didn't mind. He'd let Keith know that he could come in, if he wanted. He'd understood that Keith might feel the need to check on him. 

Shiro laughed. "Thanks for clearing that up." He did feel improved, knowing Keith was here. He was calmer. He knew where he was and who was with him.

"Anytime. I'm glad you're safe now."

"You never know. I still might fall out of bed." It wasn't unthinkable. He had bad dreams. He'd had his share of restless nights, including turning and rolling. A fall could happen.

"I'll catch you," Keith assured him.

"Are you going to stay here all night?"

Keith nodded. "If I have to."

Shiro let out a long breath, shifting beneath the covers. His body felt all wrong. He was unbalanced. The lack of his arm was a constant ache and agitation, never truly out of his mind, not even with Keith's presence calming him. "That sounds like you."

"It is," said Keith.

"I'm going to get up," Shiro said. Even if he wanted to sleep for ten more hours, he wasn't going to do that. He had to keep moving. Keith rose, moving out of his way. Shiro sat up, then swung his legs around, over the edge of the bed. Keith was watching him closely, but didn't interfere. Shiro stood, slowly. He was still getting used to his body. Not only was it unbalanced—it was battered and bruised. It felt like it had been through a war, which it had.

Shiro took a step, but he was weaker than he thought, and he staggered. Immediately, Keith's hand settled on his back, steadying him.

"Thanks, Keith," Shiro said. "You're good at that."

"It's easy to do." Keith drew his hand back, satisfied that Shiro was steady. He shrugged.

"I'll have a harder time catching you, now." Shiro glanced down at the place his arm had once been. He was glad to be rid of the Galra-made prosthetic, but it was unnerving to look at his shoulder and see how abruptly it ended. The missing arm didn't exactly set off his sense of pain, but he was acutely aware of a sense of loss. That was what ached—the sense of what should be there, but wasn't. It was possible that someone would be able to engineer him a replacement, but until then, he'd make do with what he had.

"Hey, Shiro," said Keith.

Shiro glimpsed motion out of the corner of his eye. Without thinking, he lunged, his arm shooting out in time to grab Keith by his shoulders and stop his fall. Keith leaned against him, relaxed. His eyes were closed, as if he'd fallen asleep and dropped where he stood. "Was that really necessary?" Shiro asked, but he was smiling again.

Keith's eyes snapped open again. "Yeah."

Once again, Keith had presented an argument and proved his point without speaking. Shiro trusted Keith to catch him, but that wasn't enough. He had to trust himself to catch Keith, too. "Are you going to stand up, or are you going to keep leaning on me?" Shiro asked.

"I'll keep leaning."

Shiro let him continue to lean, since that was what he wanted. He liked to see Keith so contented. Shiro could read Keith, and he knew that Keith was as tired as he was. He probably could have used ten hours' sleep, too, after everything he'd done. Shiro would see that he got it, if it was at all possible. "Thanks, Keith," he said.

"For what?"

"I could think of more than a few things," Shiro said, but he didn't bother to list them. Continuing to hold Keith up, he moved back toward the bed. When he sat down, Keith sat beside him. He rested his head on Shiro's chest. Shiro was happy to hold him up. He would do so as many times as Keith needed. "But we're all caught up for now," Shiro said.


	3. Witch Way

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Keith is a witch, and he's on his own in an unkind world—but not for long.
> 
> Written for the prompt **Happy Ending**.

He heard a voice, rough and raw, coming from a long way away, across empty space. Someone—was calling out to him. Keith opened his eyes. It was cold, so cold, and his wing throbbed with pain. His entire body ached from lying in the snow. How long had he been here? He couldn't stay here. It wasn't safe. He'd been attacked, and he'd fallen from the sky. He had been reckless, flying much too far into unknown lands. Where had he been going?

Keith could see nothing but the white snow, the gray sky above, and the black, leafless trees of the forest rising on the far end of the broad clearing where he lay. It was as if the world had lost all color. He could usually see more colors in this form, with his bird's eyes, than when he was human. Where had the life and vividness gone? It was draining away. 

Keith tried to focus on his body, to hold its shape in his mind, so he could change it. If he could revert to his human form, it might minimize his wounds. He would still be sprawled in the middle of a snowy field, but he might be able to walk away. No matter how he struggled to concentrate, Keith's body remained stubbornly static: feathered and winged. He was too weak. He was trapped in this form, and he couldn't fly.

Hadn't someone been calling to him? He was sure that was why he had woken up. He didn't want to think that he'd imagined it.

Before he could doubt himself, the call came again, harsh and deep. The source of the sound was nearer now, but Keith couldn't turn his head in that direction. He gave a croaking reply, but his voice sounded as weak as his body felt.

There was a flutter of wings. The call repeated once more, closer now. Keith heard a crunching as something moved across the snow toward him, and finally into his field of vision. It was a raven, a white one, watching him through a single dark eye. Keith had never seen a fully white raven before. It was as white as the snow, but it returned color to him when he looked at it. Across its whiteness played faint greens, golds, blues and reds, as its feathers gleamed with a strange iridescence. 

_Beautiful_ , thought Keith. That was the last word his consciousness could muster before his eyes closed and the world went away.

When Keith next awoke, he was much warmer, and the pain in his wing had subsided. He was surrounded by the color red. He shifted his wings and poked at the redness with his beak. The bright color yielded. Someone had wrapped a blanket around him, but it was loose, and he pushed it aside easily. As he turned his head, he took in the sight of a room's four walls. They were paneled in wood, with shelves clustered in each corner. Each shelf was, in turn, cluttered with a thousand things: bottles and herbs and stones and branches and bones. Keith saw artifacts and talismans he didn't know the names of. Some of them glowed. He was inside a house, but he wasn't in a cage. He was free to move here.

An appetizing pile of meat had been placed next to him. Keith's hunger drew him to it. He emerged fully from the blanket and pecked experimentally at the food. It looked, tasted, and smelled good, so he started to eat. He might have been asleep for a week, if he'd built up this much hunger.

"So, you're up. Feeling better?" A human man appeared in the doorway. Keith squawked in surprise, although he didn't jump away from the meat. He blinked at the man, cocking his head to one side. The stranger had a young face, but his hair was completely white. His eyes were dark. Keith cawed at him quietly, then pecked at the meat again.

"You don't seem too worried. Good," said the man. "You don't need to be. But you've had a hard time, I know."

He was right, but Keith was too busy eating to reply, acting as this body urged him. Not that he could have formed human words with a raven's beak.

The man sighed, although a faint smile lingered on his lips as he watched Keith eat. "You're much better, aren't you? No thanks to whoever shot you down. I don't know why people think they can kill animals and leave them to die—not even to feed themselves. Just to amuse themselves." 

Keith paused to croak his agreement. The more he ate, the stronger he became, and the better he felt.

"Fortunately," the man continued, "it wasn't a direct hit. I was able to heal you. You'll feel like yourself again in a few days." He was speaking conversationally, as if talking to an equal. Keith appreciated the calm, kind tone of his voice. He had already been reassured by the warmth and the meat, and his host put him more at ease. When the man took another few steps toward Keith, Keith allowed it. The stranger didn't quite come within arm's reach, instead seating himself a few paces from Keith. "You can stay as long as you need to," he said. "I have enough food and warmth for the both of us."

Up close, Keith could see scars on the man's face. They weren't the work of a gun, long and straight like the strokes of a blade. Had someone hurt him, too? "I'll never understand why anyone thinks ravens are bad luck." he said. "Look at you. So beautiful. You look like good luck to me."

Keith flapped his wings. He had finished his meat. His health and spirits were much improved. His mind was clear, and the pain had lessened into discomfort. He closed his eyes and tried to focus. He envisioned his raven body, and then he imagined it stretching, wings lengthening into arms, legs extending, torso expanding, feathers receding. He felt the tingling in his limbs that let him know that the transformation was taking effect.

The sound of the man's gasp was clear in the quiet room. "What are you—"

Once Keith regained his original form, he pulled the red blanket over his lap, then brushed his hair back from his face. He glanced down at his arm and chest. The wounds from the gun's blast had caused had healed over, as if by magic. No—they _had_ been healed by magic. Only a soft scatter of scar tissue was left. "Thank you," he said.

The man's easy words had deserted him. At first, he stared instead of spoke. When he did manage to speak, his sentence was fragmented. "You're a—"

"A witch," Keith supplied.

"Like me," said the stranger who had saved him.

"Like you," Keith agreed. He had guessed that this man, with his healing power, must be the white raven he'd seen before. He had the same air about him, and his white hair had the same brilliance. Keith hadn't wanted to remain in his own raven form and mislead him any longer than was necessary. He had to tell him the truth, and showing him was the best way to do that. "I would have died, if you hadn't come for me," he said.

"I had no idea what you were."

Witches didn't always know each other by sight. It was more difficult to sense passive magic. It was active magic, like a transformation spell, that cast off energy. Keith was fortunate to have been found. He'd been but one black bird in the middle of the snow. "But you saved me anyway."

"It's been so long since I met another— I'd thought maybe you could be my familiar, if you chose to be, but it looks like that's not happening." The witch laughed. "Not that I mind. This is better. What's your name?"

"Keith."

"I'm Shiro. Keith." He smiled as he said Keith's name. "Let me get you something more suitable to wear."

"Okay." Keith pulled the blanket up to cover more of his body as Shiro left. The room looked much smaller to him now, but it felt comfortable rather than confining. When he gazed out the window, he could see that snow was falling over the dark wood outside. This was a real witch's cottage, warded for safety. He'd heard that they existed, but he'd never seen one himself. It must have been far away from any town or village—a secret place that certain people might be able to find, if they had knowledge or need.

The isolation suited Keith. It was flying too near to a village that had gotten him shot. If his attacker had known he was a witch as well as a raven, it would have been worse for him. They wouldn't have simply left him to die. They would have made sure he was dead.

There was a small, high sound from behind him. Shiro couldn't have made that sound, unless he'd changed form again. Keith turned away from the window, in time to see a little black cat come running in. She raced up to Keith and started to butt her head against his blanketed knee.

"I guess I don't need to keep you two apart, after all," said Shiro, who was a few paces behind her. "Since you're not actually a bird. Let me introduce you. Keith, meet Lion. Lion, this is Keith."

"She's a little small for a lion," Keith observed, as he scratched the now purring cat beneath her chin.

"She can be surprising."

"I'll bet," said Keith.

"But so can you," Shiro said. He handed Keith the clothing he'd brought with him. Keith rose and dropped the blanket, and Shiro politely turned his back, looking away. The garment was a large, black tunic. It was too large for Keith, and it fell down over his knees like a dress when he pulled it on, but he didn't mind. The cat was now winding her way around his ankles, pausing only to reach up and bat at the hem of his tunic.

"My offer stands," said Shiro. "You can stay here as long as you want."

Keith nodded, slowly. "I don't have anywhere to go." He had been flying with the sole purpose of flying, without a fixed destination in mind—but he'd reached a destination, in the end.

"I know what that's like," said Shiro. "If that's how it is, then stay." He laughed, suddenly. "I was right, you were good luck. It's been such a long time since someone else lived here."

Keith sensed there was a story there, and that there were many other stories here. If he decided to accept Shiro's offer, he would have time to hear those stories, in the future. He would have a future. As he considered, he studied Shiro, picturing that striking white raven in his mind. He'd like to see Shiro fly someday. He'd like to fly with him, a black raven alongside the white. "I'll stay."


	4. Barbarians and Backstory

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Keith isn't as enthusiastic about _Monsters and Mana_ as Shiro, but he's reluctantly allowed himself to be dragged along on a quest—or that's what _Shiro_ thinks. Is that really the truth of the matter? (Roll a perception check!)

"I still don't see the point," said Keith, folding his arms. "We could be training right now. _Really_ training."

"We could, yes," Shiro admitted, "but we can't train all the time. We need to take a break every now and then."

"We do?" asked Keith.

Shiro supposed that there weren't a lot of breaks taken by the Blade of Marmora. He couldn't pretend that Keith hadn't changed while they'd been apart. Keith was older and, at times, much more somber. "We do," said Shiro. He was going to have to make sure Keith took some time for himself, if he was working himself too hard. "Now, tell me about yourself."

Keith sighed, but he answered the question. "I'm Darkstorm Thunderbringer," he said, "and I like to fight."

"Who do you like to fight?" asked Shiro.

"My enemies," Keith answered, after a moment's hesitation.

"Why are they your enemies? Did they do something to you?"

"Because they're jerks," said Keith. "And I hate them."

Shiro nodded. He wasn't entirely convinced by this backstory, but he didn't want to critique it, when part of the point of the game was to create your own history. He wasn't going to quash Keith's creativity, even if he did want more details. "That makes sense. But do you have a little more backstory than that?"

"No," said Keith—or rather, Darkstorm Thunderbringer. He was a barbarian warrior, and Shiro—no, Jiro Shirogane—wasn't sure what his clothing was made out of, but part of it seemed to have been hewn from the body of a horrifying monster.

"What about your name? Where does that come from?"

In response, Darkstorm clapped his hands. There was an ominous rumble, and a shadow passed by overhead. Jiro looked up, in time to see a bolt of lightning descend from the heavens and hit the ground several feet away. Fortunately, it was a small bolt of lighting. It left a sizable patch of ground seared and smoking, but no fires had broken out.

"How did you do that?" Jiro asked.

"I'm part Lightning Elemental."

"I didn't know that was possible." He had read the manual from cover to cover several times, and he couldn't recall anything about Lightning Elementals, or part Lightning Elementals.

"Coran helped."

That explained it. Coran, as a Lore Master, probably had additional information that wasn't included in the manual. Maybe there were extra volumes that had been lost in the war. "Are you willing to embark upon this endeavor with me, Darkstorm—may I call you Darkstorm?"

"If you want," said Darkstorm. 'That's my name. There's going to be fighting, right?"

Perhaps Jiro didn't know a lot about Darkstorm, but he could tell that the few details he _had_ learned were crucial to Darkstorm's character. Like fighting. Jiro drew himself up to his full height, tilting his head in the hope that his circlet would glint meaningfully in the light. "We will face many dangers and many battles on our quest to defeat the fell Leviathan Demon. The road will be long, and the journey will be tiring, but—"

Darkstorm cut him off. "I'm in. Let's go."

Darkstorm was a barbarian of few words, but he proved to be a fine traveling companion. He didn't share much about himself, and he spent a lot of time cleaning and sharpening his many blades—blades which frequently crackled with electricity—but he was a good listener. He listened patiently to all Jiro's tales of his adventures with his beloved lost master and his beloved lost brother. Darkstorm didn't usually respond with words, but he looked sympathetic, and he didn't run away or put his hands over his ears and start singing to himself, as certain other people had done in the past.

The problem with finding the Leviathan Demon was that it was as elusive and clever as it was dangerous. Only such a treacherous, wily creature could have bested his master. Those who knew of the fiend lived in fear of it. No one could say where it was, or if they could, they didn't wish to, for fear of putting themselves or their loved ones in danger. Jiro frequently had to roll perception checks, for no reason that he could name—meaning that he was exceptionally cautious and watchful at all times. He always carried a number of torches, as well as any emergency equipment he could think of, without going over his inventory maximum. There was no such thing as being too careful. His care was rewarded with a series of clues and rumors, which he and Darkstorm puzzled over and explored as they desperately sought a solid lead. 

They found such a lead on one gray day, when they spied a column of smoke rising into the sky in the midst of a wood. Suspicious of a fire of that size, they hurried toward the source and soon arrived at a small village. Whatever calamity had struck the settlement, it must have happened very recently. Homes burned, and villagers fled the scene, escaping into the surrounding woods. 

Jiro and Darkstorm didn't hesitate. They ran into the village, undeterred by the flames. Jiro's first priority was to rescue the inhabitants who hadn't been able to escape on their own. Darkstorm's goal was the same. The barbarian struck down doors with his axe so he could charge into burning homes and rescue the occupants trapped inside. Jiro and Darkstorm weren't magic users with strong enough spells to put out a large fire, but fortunately, it began to rain, which made the fires easier to combat. A few of the villagers joined in to help.

Darkstorm's rolls—his _luck_ —was consistently better than Jiro's, and at the end of their labors, Jiro was weary and dusty, wearing a few more cuts and bruises than before, while Darkstorm appeared to be unhurt. Jiro didn't resent his companion's good fortune. What mattered was that the villagers had been saved. As a paladin, the safety of others was more important to him than his personal quest. He wasn't sure if Darkstorm felt the same. Darkstorm was supposedly a barbarian, but he had been very vague about what that meant to him.

Now wasn't the time to worry about Darkstorm's alignment, however. They had to tend to the injured. Jiro may not have been a magic user, but his inventory was well-stocked with healing items, a fact he inwardly congratulated himself on as he distributed his herbs. 

One of Jiro's patients was a small boy with an incongruously large mustache. "Are you going to get that demon, Mister Knight?" the child asked him hopefully, tears welling up in his adorably wide eyes.

"Demon?" Jiro asked. He had seen the flames, but he hadn't seen whatever—or whoever—had caused them.

"Oh, he was terrible!" A tear rolled down the child's face. "He was made of fire. And he set everything on fire. I'm so scared." The child gave Jiro the most pitiful look he'd ever seen.

"I'll protect you," said Jiro, who could never turn away from a fearful child. "I'm a paladin. That's what we do."

The child wasn't consoled by this information. "But if you don't defeat him, he might come back! He'll attack our village again!"

"No, he won't," said Jiro, placing his hand on his chest. "I won't let that happen. I promise."

Darkstorm suddenly tugged on Jiro's elbow, pulling him aside. "How can you promise that?" he asked in a harsh whisper. "We don't know anything about that demon, or where it went."

"No, but we have to protect these people."

"We can't protect _everyone_. There are only two of us. Even if we could find the demon, how are we supposed to defeat it on our own?"

Jiro understood what Darkstorm was saying, but he couldn't agree. He was about to give a dramatic speech on the topic of their sacred responsibility as upholders of the light when he was unexpectedly interrupted.

"What you need is the Diadem of Demon Destroying!" a new voice exclaimed.

"What?" Jiro turned to find a man kneeling down at the side of the mustached child. The man also had a large, orange mustache, so Jiro suspected that the two were related.

"It's an ancient and secret demon slaying aid," the man explained. "A very powerful artifact." He picked up the child, cradling the boy lovingly in his arms. "There, there, my son," he said. "Don't weep. These brave warriors will protect us."

"If this artifact is so secret, how do _you_ know about it?" Darkstorm demanded.

"We don't need to be so confrontational," Jiro told him, in a low voice.

The villager shook his head, slowly. "Someone needs to do a charisma roll," he said.

"Me?" Darkstorm asked. When the villager nodded, he sighed. "Fine. I'll do it. There."

"Hm," said the villager thoughtfully, after a moment. "Even though you are incredibly rude, I feel compelled to answer you, for some reason. This village has stood here for centuries, and we still tell tales of the fateful day that the Legendary Demonslayer Allfang fought the Legendary Demonslayer-Slayer Hangour on the top of that mountain!" He turned and pointed, and there, as he'd said, was a tall mountain, swathed in mist. After a brief pause, he added, "They slew each other."

"And that's where the Diadem of Demon Destroying dwells?" asked Shiro.

"Definitely," said the villager. "It could be that the demon who came through here was looking for it! It helps people slay demons, and demons don't like that. One of them comes through here every generation or so, seeking the Diadem. But they say it's guarded by the ghost of Allfang. She may have been a demonslayer, but she was not very nice."

Darkstorm pulled Jiro away again. "I really don't know about this."

"Keith—I mean, Darkstorm—I swore an oath. And I take that oath very seriously."

"I didn't swear that oath," said Darkstorm, darkly.

Jiro went on, as if he hadn't heard. "There is evil here, and I will vanquish it. If the demon is looking for an artifact in the area, he might return to attack these people again."

"I don't know. We should wait until Pidge and Hunk have finished running their tests. You said they might join in later."

"Yes, my son," said the villager behind them, in an unnecessarily loud voice, "we've seen demons before, but never a Leviathan Demon like that! It was chilling. I'll never forget the cruel sound of its echoing laughter."

_A Leviathan Demon...?_ Jiro gripped Darkstorm's arm. "Then the rumors are true. Our quarry is in this part of the world. We have to pursue it while we can, Darkstorm. If we let it get away, who knows how long it will be before we can find it again? It will go on, spreading its misery and mayhem—"

"All right," said Darkstorm. "If it's that important to you. Let's go."

They helped the villagers as much as they could before they left. Then the friendly, mustached villager pointed out a path that led to the mountain. Jiro noticed that his stock of healing supplies was getting low. He and Darkstorm hadn't been able to restock in the burned village. The people had needed whatever was left. Since the path to the mountain lay through an uninhabited and inhospitable area, it was unlikely he'd have a chance to replenish his inventory anytime soon. At least he still had all his torches.

By the time night fell, they reached the edge of the wood. Where the trees ended, a bleak wasteland began. Jiro wondered if this land had been scorched long ago, in the fateful battle between Allfang and Hangour. The devastation stretched to the foot of the mountain.

"We should set up camp here," said Jiro. 

"Sure," said Darkstorm. He was already at work doing just that, under the cover of the trees. Such a reliable and thoughtful traveling companion. Jiro was lucky to have him here. Jiro cast a simple perimeter charm while Darkstorm dealt with the equipment. Once their preparations were done, they made a quick, cold meal out of careful portions of their provisions, then settled down to rest in preparation for the long journey ahead. 

"You sleep first," said Darkstorm. "I'll wake you when it's my turn."

Jiro had long since realized that Darkstorm purposefully gave him longer sleep shifts, but he wasn't going to lecture him about that now. After a long day of rescuing and doing what was right, he was righteously tired. He fell asleep almost at once.

Jiro was awakened by laughter. That couldn't be Darkstorm. Darkstorm never laughed. When Jiro opened his eyes, he found himself lying on rocky ground, surrounded by three flying, flickering beings that looked like they were made of living flame. _Demons_. It was still night, so he couldn't see his surroundings clearly, but he could see them. Jiro tried to leap to his feet and grab his sword, but he immediately discovered that he was unable to move. He couldn't so much as turn his head to see whether he was bound by physical or magical bonds. "Who are you?" he demanded. "Where is my companion?" After another moment's thought, he added, "Unhand me!"

"Oh, we're going to unhand you! We're going to un-everything you. Because we're going to eat you," said one of the demons, leaning in close.

"We're going to eat every ounce of you," added the second demon. "We knew that if we lured you way out here, we could pick you off easily."

"Just as our master planned," said the third demon.

"Your master?" Jiro asked. 

"Leviathan!" they cried in chorus, before one of them added, "You're really a pest, so we have to get rid of you. Also, we're hungry, after all that burning we did."

The Leviathan Demon had apprentices as well? That was a surprise, but it was no shock to him that they they were as senselessly cruel as their master. Jiro had to defeat them here, to stop them from spreading their evil and chaos. The obstacle keeping him from that goal was the fact that he was very securely bound. In all his struggling, he hadn't managed to loosen his bonds even a fraction.

"Such a foolish adventurer," said a new voice, as a figure stepped toward him over the rocky earth that he realized must have been the wasteland surrounding the mountain. Was it the Leviathan Demon? But no, it was a mortal. With a familiar mustache. The villager from before? "You fell right into my trap."

" _You're_ the demon?" Jiro exclaimed.

The villager shook his head, giving him a pitying look. "Wrong. I'm being possessed by the Leviathan Demon, and he's the one who guided you to your doom."

"How is that possible? Detect possession is one of my skills."

The villager sighed. "I keep telling you, you have to consciously activate that skill! It doesn't just kick in on its own. You at no point said that you wanted to roll for detect possession."

"But I know Jiro would have been able to sense the demonic presence with his paladin powers."

The villager folded his arms, sternly. "Well, he didn't. And here you are. About to be eaten."

"What about the Demon-Destroying Diadem?"

"It's called the Diadem of Demon Destroying," the villager corrected him.

"What about that, then?"

"I'm not telling you that. You'll have to find it out on your own. _If_ you survive. Which doesn't look very likely at this point."

No, it didn't. The three apprentices of the Leviathan Demon came in close, leering at him. "Is it time to eat now? one asked. "He looks ready to me." Was he really going to die—again? And why did he have to be eaten— _again?_ Not one to give up, even at the worst of moments, Jiro continued to struggle. If he could only free a single limb, at least, he would have a chance—

A deafening clap of thunder split the night, followed by a dazzling flash of lightning. For the next few seconds, Jiro could no longer see or hear, but he felt an enormous gust of wind, and a downpour of rain. He had the sense that something very violent was happening, very close by. When he could see and hear again, the demons were gone. The villager was lying on his back, as if asleep—hopefully, he was asleep and not dead. More startling than the vanished demons and the fallen villager, however, was the large beast standing over him. Its long, coiled, scaled body glittered with sparks as it crackled with electricity. It opened its jaws, revealing rows of pointed teeth. Before Jiro could comprehend what was happening, he passed out.

He wasn't sure how long he was unconscious, but when he awakened, Darkstorm was standing over him, freeing him from his bonds. "Are you all right?" he asked.

"Now I am. Did you—?"

"Did I what?" asked Darkstorm, clearly avoiding the obvious issue.

Jiro sat up, rubbing at his wrists, frowning as he considered what he had seen—and felt. He was quickly coming to an unexpected conclusion. "Darkstorm," murmured Jiro, "are you—a dragon?"

Darkstorm couldn't evade a question this direct. He cleared his throat. Then, he finally told the truth he had been hiding. "Half dragon," said Darkstorm. "My mother is the Maker of Storms, the Dragon Queen Electricity Maelstrom. When I was just a hatchling, I was stolen by a ruthless sand goblin and abandoned in the Absolute Desert, where no drop of rain has ever fallen." He sounded like he was reciting from memory, but this backstory was so good that Jiro hardly noticed, and he wouldn't have criticized it for the world. Jiro had never heard Darkstorm say so many words at once. "Without my mother, and without the nourishing rain, I would have died," Darkstorm continued. "But into that desert, came two brothers, who had been sent on a quest by their master, to find the Pearl of Desiccation."

What a beautiful speech. Jiro was impressed. "Takashi and Jiro," he whispered.

"Takashi and Jiro," Darkstorm agreed. "They found a baby dragon in that wilderness, and although they could have slain it, like so many humans would have, they took it with them and gave it their own scraps of food and precious drops of water, saving its life."

"Yes, I remember that journey. That was you? We thought you were a lizard."

Darkstorm ignored the lizard comment and continued. "Once you left the Absolute Desert, you set me free, and I swore on that day that I would be forever loyal to Takashi and Jiro Shirogane. Even though Takashi may be gone, he is not forgotten. I will honor his memory and protect his brother's life at any cost, even if it should cost me my own life." Darkstorm fell silent, visibly pondering, as if trying to decide if he'd forgotten anything. Eventually, he nodded in satisfaction, his dramatic reveal done.

"You were able to defeat those demons on your own? But you haven't played before."

The mustached villager sat up suddenly, smiling broadly. Shiro started, but the man didn't appear to be possessed anymore. "That isn't precisely true. He's been developing his character over a series of sessions! A very determined player. A real joy to work with someone so dedicated to his role."

"No one told me." The full reality of the situation was sinking in, and Jiro was all but reeling. He turned to Darkstorm. "Can I see your stats?" he asked. In response, Darkstorm wordlessly handed over the tablet interface that contained his character sheet.

Jiro quickly scanned it. "But these are—" Darkstorm's levels were well above Jiro's own. He was incredibly powerful. When had he had time to do this? "You hid this from me the whole time?"

"We couldn't let Jiro know about Darkstorm before the proper moment," said the villager. "That wouldn't do at all. Dragons are very secretive, you know."

"Right," said Darkstorm.

Jiro gazed at Darkstorm, who stood with a firm stance on the blasted soil of the wet wasteland. A few sparks rose from Darkstorm's shoulders. "Why?" Jiro asked.

"I heard about what happened before," said Darkstorm. "It wouldn't have happened if I'd been here, and I'm not going to let it happen again."

His previous characters' deaths had been inconvenient, and he hadn't been _happy_ about them, but he never would have imagined that someone would take the matter so seriously. Someone had. It was the same person who listened patiently to his detailed history, remained steadfast at his side, and stood by his choices, even if he didn't personally agree with them.

"That's right, we came up with the best possible character to protect a paladin." The villager had not grown tired of cheerfully interjecting his own commentary into the conversation. "Half-dragons have a lot of firepower, and they also receive a sizable bonus when protecting their hoards."

"Their hoards," said Jiro, glancing from Darkstorm to the villager. He thought he knew what that meant, but he wanted the final confirmation.

The villager was happy to continue explaining. He was very chatty for someone who had so recently been possessed by a murderous demon. "A half-dragon character can select another player character as its 'hoard', under the right circumstances."

"You mean me," said Shiro softly. "I'm the hoard."

"Shiro," said Keith, "are you crying?"

Shiro wiped at his eyes with the back of his hand. He hadn't expected to become so emotional, but he also hadn't expected that Keith would create a loyal dragon warrior to protect his character. When he tried to speak, his voice broke. "It's just—you made your backstory intersect with mine."

"It's okay." Keith came in for a hug, sliding his arms around Shiro's shoulders. He held him tight, and Shiro blinked away his tears. Keith leaned in to whisper in his ear, a single word, spoken too quietly for the villager to overhear: " _Dork_ ," he said.

When they pulled apart, Jiro Shirogane was smiling. They'd survived their ordeal, and their greatest quest lay ahead of them. The paladin and the half-dragon, two great friends with a single shared goal, were headed toward the same destination. They would remain together until the end, traveling side by side through the deepest chasms and up to the most lofty heights.

"Uh, I have some bad news, though," said Darkstorm, interrupting Jiro's internal monologue.

"Worry not, my dear companion. We can survive any misfortune!" Jiro's confidence had been boosted. He doubted that anything could stop them now. They were sure to catch up with the Leviathan Demon and vanquish it. 

"The demons kind of torched your torches," said Darkstorm.

"That's right," said the villager, a trifle too smugly. What was that villager still doing out here? Shouldn't he be heading back to the village and his tiny mustached son? "And do you see that, up ahead? There's a dark cave lurking at the base of that mountain, with a meaningful tint to its shadows."

"What—? No, that's not possible." Jiro frantically checked his inventory, but it was true: his torches had vanished. He had no inventory left. His careful planning and shopping had been for nothing.

"Come on, Paladin," said Darkstorm, taking his hand. "We'll figure it out."


	5. Wavelengths I

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Keith's father was human, and his mother was a merperson, which means he's neither one nor the other. He lost his parents years ago. Although he lives among the People of the Sea, he's never felt he was truly one of them. When he finally meets a human, will he find a place he belongs?
> 
> For the prompt _Alternate Realities_ , because a merfolk AU is a classic alternate reality. [This story will have a continuation, which I'll post as another chapter in this collection, when it's finished.]

Keith watched the raging storm from the water. He wasn't safe, bobbing among the rough waves. The surface was rife with danger, but that didn't stop him from coming here. He had ignored all the warnings, and there were many of those. The People of the Sea told endless stories about the terrible world above.

Storms were perilous, but there were greater hazards. Humans were the worst of them, more threatening than a storm like this. In the tales, humans would hack off your fins and eat them. They would slice off your skin and make a coat out of it. They would poison your water until you sickened and died. Humans couldn't be trusted, and they could never be allowed to discover the People of the Sea. That was why the tribes didn't rise to the surface, keeping to the deep waters to avoid humans and their ships. The law didn't demand that humans must be drowned on sight, but killing them was considered the safe choice. 

Keith's mother hadn't followed that sensible practice. As cruel as humans were said to be, she had fallen in love with one of them. That was how Keith had come into existence, so how could he believe that all humans should be drowned?

Keith had reason to be suspicious of the tales. The same people who advised drowning humans said that his mother, Krolia, had been strange and unstable. They said that his father had been a monster. His father had gone away, so long ago that Keith had no memories of him. Krolia, too, had disappeared. Keith's memories of her were the memories of a small child, loving and uncritical. He hadn't thought she was strange. He had thought she was his mother, and for him, she had been everything. 

No one would tell Keith what had happened to her, or to his father. Instead, some of the tribespeople said that they wished Keith had vanished, too. He would have been glad to follow his parents, if he'd known where they'd gone. He'd have loved to talk to them and learn the many things he might never know about them. The people he lived among said so many things, but never the words Keith wanted to hear.

_I can't bear to look at him._

_He shouldn't exist._

_The council shouldn't have let him stay._

Tribes didn't accept outsiders lightly, so Keith might easily have been driven off by his mother's own people. He had a mixed heritage and a human name. His eyes were shaped like humans' eyes, and his face was softer and rounder than the faces of the people around him. Despite his monstrous appearance, the tribe had taken mercy on him, or pity. They had raised him after his parents had gone. When he'd been a child, unable to fend for himself, they had fed him and educated him. He should have been grateful for their help, but he wasn't. They had never let him forget he wasn't one of them. He couldn't forgive them for that. If his mother had stayed with him, his life would have been much different. He would have belonged with someone. If his father had stayed—but Keith didn't know enough about his father to guess what it would be like to live with _him_.

Keith knew relatively little about humans, except for the stories, in which they were villains. His mother had told him a few things before she'd disappeared, but only what you'd tell a child. She'd taught Keith some words and phrases in his father's language, and she'd given him a memento of his father. It was a weapon, long and thin and sharp. It had once been bright, but the ocean's touch had dulled it over the years. Keith liked to take it out and look at it, turning it over and over in his hands, but only when he was sure he wasn't observed. Owning any human artifact was forbidden, but a weapon was the worst kind to be caught with.

Keith kept the weapon to himself, and he kept himself apart from the others in the settlement, most of the time. Keith was more secretive and less accepting than the others. He was cut off from both outsiders and his own tribe. He had his own, hidden places where he stored his treasures, and where he lingered when he wanted to be alone. The tribe didn't mind when he kept his distance. They preferred it when he troubled them less. He understood that, and they knew that he did. 

Keith had so little reason to stay close to the people who were supposedly his kin that he often swam far from the settlement, into the wilderness. He was old enough to catch fish for himself, and he had learned the currents and the secrets of the sea. The farthest location he could reach was straight up: the water's surface. It wasn't that it was that far away in terms of physical distance, but in essence, it was another world. The People of the Sea avoided it. They stayed down deep. The air above was dangerous, but it fascinated Keith. On clear days, he would gaze up at the sunlight shining down on the water, then break through the surface to see the blinding sun itself. Keith's father had come from up above, so part of Keith was from that place, too. It was a world of air and land and weather and wildness, and nothing was as wild as a storm, on a day like this.

In the depths, great storms could be felt. They shook the silt and the sea grass, but they had less impact because they were so high up. The water kept them at bay. A storm on the surface was an overwhelming experience, and one that drew him in again and again. When Keith sensed troubled water, he would rise. 

The storm crackled and crashed across the sky. Below the surface, the world had the pressure of the water bearing down on it, but above, everything was exposed and unlimited. In the midst of a storm, the winds were violent, the clouds dark and swift. Lights brightened the sky in bolts and flashes. No one else in the tribe had seen sights like this. That was part of the reason Keith liked to watch the storms, but there were other reasons, too, like a longing for newness and difference, and for the world his father must have known. Because of his mixed heritage, Keith could breathe both underwater and overwater. He could remain up here, swimming through the storm, for as long as he wanted, but the rough waves and bursts of light could kill. Waves carried debris, and rolling waters could bring any flotsam or jetsam down upon the head of an unwary person who ventured up into the air.

To Keith, the excitement and satisfaction were worth the risk, but as he battled the waves, he kept watch for shapes in the water that might prove a threat. He had sensed a few pieces nearby that he'd avoided, but one object in particular quickly caught his attention. The large, solid mass could have been debris, but there was a fluid quality to its form and motion which caught his interest more than once. Like something living, or something dying. It looked more like a body than a piece of debris. It was sensible to swim away from any unknown form in the water during a storm, but Keith's curiosity overwhelmed him, and he swam toward this one, instead. 

Was it a person? Someone else who'd surfaced into the storm? Keith had no idea why someone from his tribe would do that, unless they were following him. Keith drew close enough to almost touch the mystery form, and then a flash of light illuminated the sky. Keith saw pale, scaleless skin and a long, finless body carried on the water. _Human_. A human man. Keith had never seen one before. How had he come here? Humans couldn't live out here, and this one wouldn't live much longer, floating with eyes closed, helpless in the rough water. One of their vessels might have been wrecked by the storm. A vessel would make the waters more treacherous, adding more debris.

It would have been safer for Keith to dive beneath the waves, but the human wouldn't be able to breathe down there. Anyone else would have abandoned the human to death. It was common practice among his people to drown humans lost at sea. It was said to be more merciful to kill them quickly, but the truth was that they drowned them because of their great fear of humans and the harm they could do. It was likely this human was already dead. There was no reason for Keith to risk anything for him. It would have been better to go, yet he thought of his father, whose face he didn't know. Unlike the other People of the Sea, Keith was part human. No, Keith couldn't leave the human behind. He grabbed hold of him. The material that encased the human's body was slippery, but it was loose enough for Keith to grasp it, his claws hooking into it. Once he was sure he had a decent grip, he started to swim, pulling the human through the water. Tall waves struck both of them, and wind assaulted them.

In the flash of light that had illuminated the human Keith had seen someone with a face not unlike his, a face that shared all the traits his tribespeople saw as monstrous. He couldn't let this man die. If his mother had drowned his father when they'd met, Keith wouldn't be here. He didn't know if the human could be saved, but he would try.

The human needed to be back on land. Keith had to take him there. Keith had spent more time on the surface than the others of his tribe, and he had ventured farther from the home territory than anyone else would have dreamed of. Keith had studied the skies, and he had studied the horizon, so he knew where land could be found. There was an island, near enough that he could make it there with the human in tow. The small scrap of land must have been too small and rocky for humans, because none lived there, and he had never seen one there. That was rare. As the stories said, if there was a patch of dry land to stand on, you'd usually find a human there.

Now, there would be a human on this island, too. The waves were breaking hard on the shore when he reached it, so Keith had to crawl up over the land to escape them. He wasn't built for that kind of travel. He had to move his tail in unnatural ways to propel himself along in an unaccustomed manner that strained every muscle. The human was more unwieldy out of the water, and the going was difficult.

Keith had explored the island before, if not often, and never for such a desperate reason. On one of his expeditions, he had found a small cave that offered shelter. Keith dragged the human into the cave's mouth, not stopping until the ground beneath them was relatively dry. Keith positioned the human carefully on his back, then paused to examine him. His hair was completely black, and his skin was much lighter: lighter than Keith's, with a warm tone instead of a cool one. Keith leaned in and positioned his cheek close to the human's mouth and nose. He waited. Once a moment had passed, and he had felt no stir of air against his skin, Keith drew back. The human was still warm, but unfortunately, he smelled like blood. He looked like he was alive, but what if he died? Keith would have lost him before he'd met him.

How to help a human breathe? Humans were unlike the People of the Sea, but they breathed through their mouth and nose, and their air must pass down into their chests. Keith put his hands on the human's chest, applying pressure there. Once, then twice, then three and four times, hoping it would start the human breathing again. Finally, the human shuddered and gasped. The sound was rough, but Keith was encouraged. The human must not have inhaled too much water. He was alive. Breaths continued to come from him, steadier now, but he didn't open his eyes. 

While he lay still, Keith sniffed at him, searching for the source of the blood scent, and he soon located it. It was strongest near his arm. The material there was torn. _Clothing_ —that was what humans wore. His mother had told him that. Keith didn't see any blood leaking out, but he couldn't leave a wound untended, especially when he knew so little about the proper care and treatment of humans. He tugged at the clothing, experimentally. Since it was already torn, he didn't see the harm in tearing at it more. After a few minutes' work, he'd removed a large part of the material, freeing the human's arm. He examined the wound beneath, which cut through the underside of the human's forelimb. The injury wasn't bleeding much, but it was jagged, and Keith didn't like the look of it. It wasn't a clean wound.

Keith wasn't a healer, and there was only so much he could do. Keith tore the human's detached clothing into ragged strips. He used the material as if it were medicinal kelp, to bandage the cut in the arm. He wrapped it around the limb firmly, but not too tightly. When Keith drew back again, he had to carefully consider what to do next. The cave provided shelter, but it was damp and cold. Humans needed not only land, but warmth. Keith started to stir up the soil. He built it up around the human's body, like a nest, then spread the rough, scattered substance loosely on top of him. Hopefully, that would keep in some of his body heat, but it wasn't a perfect solution. He remained frustrated by how little he could do.

He could try providing warmth himself. His body didn't give off heat like that which he felt radiating from the human, but like the soil, it would provide _some_ help. Was remaining near him worth the risk? Keith had to consider the possibility that the human would be hostile when he woke up, no matter how peaceful he looked while he was sleeping. He didn't believe all the stories, but he didn't believe humans were harmless. 

Keith decided to stay with him. If he remained cautious and stayed awake, he would be more than a match for a weak, disoriented human. If he needed to leave quickly, there was a pool in the cave into which he could escape. Keith knew from his previous visits that at the bottom of the pool, there was an underwater tunnel which led out into the sea. He felt safer, knowing how easily he could reach the sea. Keith stretched out beside the human on the disturbed soil. Both of them were dirty, and Keith was tired. Drawing the human through the water and then dragging him over land had been exhausting.

A touch on his arm startled him awake. He hadn't realized he'd fallen asleep. He'd been foolish! He straightened his arms, pulling himself up, then froze. The human was staring at him. They stared at each other. The human's eyes had a dark iris that formed a circle on a white background. It made him look both alien and surprised. Keith was half-human, with a human name, but he felt such a sense of strangeness, being this close to a full human. 

The human's mouth opened, and it emitted a series of sounds. Keith could tell the noise was speech, but it was like no language he'd never heard. He backed away from the human. His instinct was to leap into the cave pool and disappear completely into the dark water, but he suppressed the urge. He watched the human warily from the pool's edge, for now. 

The human made no aggressive move, but tried speaking again. This second attempt was as incomprehensible as the first. "I don't understand," said Keith in his own language, although it was likely the human would understand the words of the People of the Sea about as well as Keith understood his human tongue.

The human moved his head from side to side, accompanying the gesture with more of his foreign speech. His expression, as inexpertly as Keith could read it, struck him as more bewildered than aggressive, which reassured him. Keith tried to remember some of the words had taught him, years ago. Why hadn't he learned more of them? He could have used that information now. Which of the few he knew would be best in this situation? He settled on the simple, "No."

The human fell silent, then spoke again, with more vehemence. Was Keith imagining it, or did his speech sound significantly different now? He wasn't familiar enough with human words to be sure. "No," said Keith again, firmly, hoping the human would realize that what he meant to say was that he didn't understand him any better now.

The human stopped talking, then moved his head slowly up and down. They returned to staring at each other in silence. They were both still, but Keith remained tense, ready to flee if he had to. The human finally glanced away and examined his surroundings. He studied the walls of the caves and peered for a time at the pool. He wiped dirt from his body, wincing as he moved his injured arm. Keith couldn't stop watching him, and soon enough, he returned to watching Keith. Slowly, Keith edged away from the pool, drawing closer to the human.

The human made another sound: a single one, this time. He pointed to his chest. Keith tilted his head to the side, but when the human repeated the sound and the gesture, Keith guessed it must be his name. He repeated it, trying to replicate the foreign sound as best he could. "Shiro," he said. It was a name he'd never heard before.

The human, Shiro, moved his head up and down and showed his teeth. Was that a positive response? They said the word back and forth a few times, until Keith thought he had learned it. In turn, Keith placed his hand on his chest and said, "Keith."

Shiro didn't immediately repeat his name. He was silent. He looked as if he wanted to say something, but was without words to say it with. Did the name sound familiar to him? Did it sound as human as Keith had been told it was? Shiro allowed a long silence to grow before he said, "Keith?"

That was right, so Keith moved his head up and down and bared his teeth, mimicking the human's positive response. "Keith," he confirmed. "Yes."

They'd already made so much progress in communicating. Keith had never thought he'd have the opportunity to speak to a human. Revealing yourself to a human was forbidden, but Keith didn't care about that anymore. He wished he could tell Shiro that he was part human, but he had no idea how he could convey such a complicated concept in their limited shared language. They hadn't progressed _that_ far.

Shiro tapped at the bandage on his arm. "Keith?" he asked.

"Yes, Keith," Keith replied, making the human up-and-down head gesture. He hoped that the human would take this to mean that he was the one who had bandaged him, not the one who had caused his injury.

"Thank you," said Shiro.

_Thank you._ He remembered that. His mother had taught him those words too. He understood. "Thank you," he said, unsure whether that was the right thing to say in response. 

"You're welcome," said Shiro.

"You're welcome?" Keith asked. That was a hard one to say, and he repeated it slowly.

Shiro let out an unexpectedly loud sound, like a bark, but higher pitched and more irregular than the bark of a seal. Keith jumped back, but when no hostile action accompanied the noise, he relaxed again. Humans weren't easy to understand, but his human was awake and alive and talking to him. 

He had long wanted to speak with a human, but that possibility had never seemed likely. He had to take good care of him, now that he had him. Keith retreated from him again, pulling himself quickly toward the cave pool. Shiro spoke, but whenever he said anything complicated, it sounded meaningless to Keith, nothing but a sequence of strange, quick sounds. Keith couldn't understand him, and he couldn't himself, so he didn't bother wasting his words. He slipped down into the water, and into the cold dark.

Keith could read the currents against his skin, so he felt rather than saw his way through the water. He found the underwater tunnel and slid through it, out into the sea. When he was swimming freely through the open ocean, he felt less confined. He also wanted to go back to the cave. His heart was beating fast with the excitement of it. A human—he could learn so much about them. Even though he and the human didn't share a language, maybe they could come to understand each other. His mother's people had never wanted him, but his father's could be different. This human was so much more gentle and intelligent than the humans in stories.

Keith had left Shiro without an explanation, but he didn't leave him for long. When he returned, it was with a fish and an armful of kelp. Keith surfaced in the pool to find the human resting on the cave floor. He sat up when Keith emerged from the water. Keith approached him slowly, but the human's manner toward him was as peaceful as it had been before. Keith was calmer in his presence than he had been initially, though he hadn't lost his wariness. He set the fish and kelp down in front of Shiro. Humans ate fish, didn't they? If not, then he could eat the kelp.

"Thank you," said Shiro.

"Yes," said Keith. He reached out and helpfully tore into the fish with his claws, opening its body and making it easier to eat. Shiro picked up the fish and held it to his mouth, taking a few small bites. Keith watched him eat, intently. His teeth were very flat, but he didn't seem to have much trouble biting into it. He spit out a few, thin bones.

Once he'd eaten, Shiro put down the fish and started to move his fingers through the dirt on the cave floor. Keith watched this new action with as much interest as he had devoted to studying the human's eating. He soon realized that Shiro had made a picture. The simple shape he had drawn looked like a fish, with fins and a tail and an open mouth.

Keith trilled excitedly as he realized what Shiro was doing, then traced his own fish-shape in the dirt, echoing Shiro's. 

Shiro tapped at his fish-shape, then said a word. Keith repeated it, eagerly. "Fish," he said. "Yes. Fish." Eager to continue this game, he pointed at the kelp. Shiro obligingly drew a few wavy lines in the sand, then said, "Seaweed."

Keith tapped at the fish-shape and the kelp and offered his own words for them, which Shiro repeated. He liked this game. They continued for a while, drawing different shapes in the sand. Every so often, Shiro would pause to take a bite of fish. He even tried the kelp. Keith didn't recognize all the shapes that Shiro made. He wasn't sure if that was because they were drawings of human things he didn't know, or if Shiro had drawn them poorly. When he didn't understand, he would shake his head from side to side and say, "No."

They kept playing until suddenly Shiro lay down, uttering a few incomprehensible words as he did so. He must have been very tired. Keith hoped he hadn't taxed him too much. He had been so excited that he hadn't been as careful as he should have been. Shiro had been injured and had nearly drowned. He needed rest and food. 

Keith pushed what remained of the fish toward him, but Shiro shook his head. He shivered. Was it too cold in the cave for humans? Keith had learned more human words, but they were far too few, when he was faced with so many complicated questions he would have liked to ask this human. He lay down beside Shiro, moving with deliberate slowness, waiting to see if the human objected. He didn't object. Maybe Keith could help him retain some of his heat. He could stay here for a while. No one in the settlement down below would care or notice that he had gone.

"Keith," said Shiro. They were close and watching each other closely. Keith was very aware of the way Shiro held his gaze. The skin of the human's face was very smooth. Keith wanted to touch it, but the human could read that contact as a hostile act. Instead, Keith trilled softly, and the human gave another of his odd barks, although this one was much quieter than the previous one. The human's eyes closed. Keith kept his eyes open. He listened to the water lapping at the walls of the cave. Farther out, there was the deeper, wilder sound of the sea. The storm had died out, but the wind was still strong, and the waves were rough. They would be capped with little white foam-tips. Keith could tell that by sound alone, he knew the sea and its surface so well. 

He could hear the human breathing, and although he did not know him well, he was aware of a change in his breath, as it slowed and grew more shallow and soft, like the wind after a storm. _He must have fallen asleep_ , thought Keith, and he was glad he had learned something else new about humans. Had he only known him this one day? It felt like longer than that. Tomorrow, he would have another day with him. He wondered what else he would learn. Until then, he would look after this human and make sure he stayed safe.

"Shiro," Keith said softly to himself. That word sounded like the wind, too.


End file.
